Anything but Charming
by iwilltry-tocarryon
Summary: AU story where Tara is a cop, just recently transferred to Charming Police Department and given Gemma as her C.I. because no one else wanted to deal with her. It'll focus mostly on Tara and Gemma's friendship as well as her relationship with Jax, but other characters will make appearances throughout the story (some from the show and others made up by me)
1. Chapter 1

(A/N: This is my first story in the SOA fandom, so keep that in mind, though I will say that Tara Knowles is one of my favorite characters of all time)

Charming might as well have been Timbuktu. Its flat, dry, backwoods landscape offered nothing to eyes that beheld some of the most astounding, elaborate structures in Chicago.

Ah Chicago, Tara Knowles dreaded leaving that place from the moment she heard of dreaded transfer that just so happened to include her name, the apparent luck of the draw. Of course when you're relatively low on the police totem pole you can't really argue. You just have to suck it up and go where you are assigned to go.

Unfortunately for her, while everyone else was moving one to bigger, or at least equivalent, departments, she was sent to middle of Nowhere's ville, Northern California, population of roughly 15,000. Chicago would've swallowed this town up in one gulp.

How much trouble could really go on there? Was it enough to warrant having her moved there with no termination date? She wanted to ask her C.O. all of these questions but when it came down to the wire, it wouldn't have made a damn bit of difference.

Shoved to the brim with boxes, Tara urged her Cutlass on towards the police station because she couldn't wait until morning to see her new place of employment. Excitement wasn't motivating her quest; it was more along the lines of 'let's get this over with.'

Slowing her car to a crawl, she whipped it into park as she sat silently, parked outside of the station. "Are you shitting me?"

That was the only appropriate response to the rundown, small, dingy two-toned brick police department staring all the way into her goddamn soul. It wasn't one of those delightful, quaint places that you saw on television and thought 'how cute,' it was more like 'shit this place has been horribly underfunded by the government.'

For Christ's sake there were only two goddamn windows on each side, not even big enough for Tara to squeeze her ass through, from what she could tell.

Sliding on her sunglasses, she laid her head against the back of the seat and let out an audibly sigh. This was going to be just fucking perfect, she bitterly laughed as she read the paint chipped sign on a parked patrol car that read 'Charming,' this place was anything but charming.

Lodged in the center of hick town, USA, what was the first call she was going to get, a farming dispute? Call it hypocritical all you wanted, but Tara seriously doubted much more could go on in that town.

Being the glutton for punishment that she was, Tara exited her car, letting the door slam shut behind her as she proceeded on into the station. She promised herself she was just going to do a drive by and check out the actual building and the surrounding area, but curiosity got the better of her and she couldn't resist seeing if this place was as dull on the inside as it was on the outside.

Silently praying to herself, she wasn't surprised when she entered the office, it was just as to be expected.

One story, cubicles all huddled around the middle of the room, drawing a distinct path to the few office doors she assumed were for the chief, deputy, sheriff, however the hell titles and ranks worked here. The police station in Chicago had three floors and a reception area with someone there to greet them upon arrival; she obviously wasn't in Kansas anymore that was becoming more and more apparent to her as she let it all sink in.

"Can I help you sweetheart?" The California drawl from a woman in her mid to late 30's, wearing a knee length, tight fitting, black pencil skirt, broke through Tara's internal whining and complaining.

Tara shook her head, "nope, I just got transferred here and was checking out the place."

With her hands on her lips, and a smirk breaking through the cherry red lipstick drawn on her lips, realization swept over her, "ah so you're the new rookie."

That word pissed Tara off, almost more than any other word. Sure she wasn't a veteran cop by any means, but she also did her time, she was far from being a rookie.

"No I spent three years in the Chicago P.D. before I got transferred here," she conceitedly retorted to the lady.

The lady chuckled remaining unimpressed by her credentials, "well if you're new here then you're a rookie, hate to break it to you."

Snapping her mouth shut, Tara thought it best not to say anything else to the woman who was obviously just yanking her chain since there wasn't anything else to do in this godforsaken town.

With a curt nod in her general direction, Tara slipped the glasses back over her eyes as she muttered a goodbye, fleeing for her car as quickly as possible. Less than 24 hours in her new job and she was already getting off on the wrong foot with the other employees.

Since the transfer was short notice, her C.O. set her up with housing. Seeing as though she knew nothing about the area she was going to and didn't have time to research and figure it out, she none too enthusiastically accepted the offer.

Peering down at her phone where the address was located, she double-checked it one more time to make sure she was parked outside of the right place before she just started trespassing. Now that would be a rookie mistake.

The house wasn't nearly as bad as the police department although Tara rarely spent time at home back in Chicago, so she didn't care much about what her house looked liked.

This place would be different. She had a feeling that Charming wasn't going to be crawling with cases and crimes going on, which would mean spending a lot more time at home. It was old-fashioned, but in a more charming, pun intended, way.

Half-brown, half-green leaves, due to water shortages and droughts, trailed up one corner of the house, completely enclosing that side of the house. Already she could spot more, and larger, windows here than at the station. The driveway, paved, was rather small, but one bonus the house offered was a garage to the left of where she was parked.

She really didn't know how to judge houses because most of what had to go off of was from Chicago and there she lived in an apartment. Houses weren't something she was accustomed to, nor the feelings one was supposed to get upon moving into their first 'home.'

The longer she sat outside, the more suspicious she would look to the wandering eyes of nosy, countryside neighbors, used to knowing everyone within a 30 mile radius.

Gathering the duffle bag perched on top of boxes in the passenger seat, she quietly closed the car door behind her, fumbling through her keys in order to figure out which was the right one. Finally, on the third attempt, she hit the jackpot and was granted access into the house.

As promised, it had been freshly painted, obvious by the lingering smell of paint that flooded Tara's nostrils as soon as she entered, and the carpet had either been cleaned or taken out. Unaware of the prior occupant of the house, she was only told that the house was badly damaged on the inside, due to unspecified circumstances, but would be remodeled before she moved in. Sure enough, it was exactly as though no one had lived there before. Every trace of human life form living in the house, completely wiped away in the process of a few weeks.

The first thing she did was close the off-white, vertical blinds, in hopes of keeping snoopy people out of her business. She was already new to the place, she didn't want to feel like an outsider right from the start.

She dropped the duffle bag on the tan, leather sofa that sat in the middle of the living room, across from a flower printed loveseat, reflecting the age of the house. Her C.O. told her it would be furnished, which at the time she was grateful for, but had no idea he meant it would look like this.

Getting a feel for her surroundings, her eyes landed on a bulky, but decent sized TV caddy cornered so that it could be seen from either the couch, or the dingy brown colored recliner. Who the hell used recliners anymore? The last person she knew to have a recliner was her 97-year-old grandfather, bedridden due to the fact that he was fucking old.

Without any more thought about the horrid choices in patterns or colors, she went back out to her car, pilling as much as she could onto her petite 5'6 frame, though she was much stronger than she looked.

After a few trips to the car, she had unloaded all of her worldly possessions into the house. Seeing everything she owned, sprawled out in the vacant home where it only took up maybe a fraction of the front room, she realized she was the definition of bare necessities.

Locking the door after she took inventory that everything from her car was here, she scanned the rest of the house, making a beeline for what she assumed to be the bedroom.

Whereas the flowers on the loveseat had been tiny, the ones on the bedspread in her room were colossal, gaudy, and just plain obnoxious. She had to get a new comforter immediately and burn that one, put it out of its misery.

The four poster, queen sized bed was made out of study, dark stained wood, matching both of the end tables on either side of the bed.

Due to the age of the house, there were no ceiling fans in any of the rooms, minus the kitchen, so the only sources of light came from the two ornately decorated lamps, and outside lighting from the long rectangular window above her bed…if she ever felt comfortable enough to open the blinds.

Tossing her keys on the nightstand, she kicked off her shoes, intending to fall into a deep sleep until tomorrow. Nostalgically glancing at the home screen of her phone, one of the first pictures she'd taken from Chicago, she sighed, pushing aside those thoughts in order to go about setting her alarm.

Thrilled was not a word she would use to describe going to work tomorrow, but that wouldn't affect how she performed at her job. She was no fucking rookie, and she would show them all, even if it took time, what else did she have to do in this goddamn town?


	2. Chapter 2

5:30 A.M. came much faster than Tara anticipated, due to the lack of sleep, what with the tossing and turning all night, being in a foreign place, and all those damn animals she could hear outside her window chattering about all night. City noises she was used to, but hearing birds squawking right outside her window was a new thing for her, one she definitely was not a fan of. It had been a long night.

Dragging her body out of bed, she was immediately filled with warmth, spreading from the tip of her toes to the top of her head. Chicago was cold, especially during the winter. She forgot for a second she wasn't there, bracing herself for the cold front to hit her as soon as she left the confines of her warm bed. It pleasantly surprised her that the rest of the house was just as warm.

Sunlight shone through the cracks of the blinds, illuminating the front room and living room enough to where no secondary source of lighting was needed. That was also a nice change from Chicago where she was in between buildings and the sunlight could never quite reach her apartment except on really sunny, summer days.

Getting dressed was the difficult part, partially because she couldn't remember exactly which boxes held her clothes, and partially because she still didn't have a uniform.

They were supposed to send it over to the Chicago P.D. before she left but apparently not many new people showed up wanting jobs at the Charming Police Department because they had to go back to the original maker of the uniforms to have them make her some.

Finally with only a little bit of agitation, she found jeans, a navy blue tank top, and one of her favorite black blazers. If it were good enough for Chicago, it sure as hell would be sufficient enough for Charming.

Driving around town during the day was vastly different from last night when she was welcomed by the bleak emptiness of no one around. Now she could spot people walking about, turning over signs to indicate they were open.

The whole town operated on a whole different level from Chicago, but there was something nice about the small town vibes everyone gave off. They smiled at her as she drove past, even though it was a curious and confused kind of smile. Even so it didn't stop her from sending a small smile of her own towards them.

It took less than no time to arrive back at the drab, minimalist police department. It looked like it quite possibly shrunk overnight if that were even possible.

Expecting the usual hustle and bustle, she walked in to find that most people were sitting around, shuffling through files, or scribbling wildly on paper in front of them. What was done on computers back in Chicago was done on paper here it appeared.

"You Tara Knowles?" A gruff voice bellowed from in front of her. Snapping her eyes to the voice, before her stood a man, no doubt in his late 60s, and that was being generous, with a balding head and a tight-lipped smile.

"Yeah, are you," she started racking her brain for the name she was supposed to remember, "Wayne Unser?"

He nodded and turned on his heels to walk back into the room adorned with a metal plaque flashing the word 'Chief.'

Standing dumbfounded, it took her a moment to realize that meant for her to follow him. She wasn't used to such curt non-verbal forms of communication.

Peering around his office, not a difficult tasking considering the size, she looked up at him again when he motioned to the chair across from his desk that held a small computer to the side. Maybe there was hopeful for them after all.

Reaching into the bottom right cabinet of his desk, he pulled out a couple uniforms, tossing them on the desk, "Jim is working on getting you some more, but for right now there's two uniforms for you there. Heard a lot of good things about you from your C.O." He crossed his arms over his chest, relaxing back in the chair a bit, "things are a little different over here in Charming."

She didn't offer any rebuttal but 'a little different' was putting it lightly. It was like night and day.

Still he continued, unaware of the sarcasm flowing through her head, "from what I hear you're a good cop, but this department is filled with good cops who have been here longer, so for all intent and purposes you'll be starting out at the bottom, just like everyone else here started. That way I can see for myself the kind of cop you are."

Her lips formed a tight line, not wanting to be rude, but at the same time she understood this was home some police stations conducted business. They were all about getting a first hand experience, not trusting the recommendations she came with.

Although at first it pissed her off to think she was being thrown in with the rest of the rookies, now it didn't bother her quite as much. She was a damn good police officer and it wouldn't take no time for Wayne Unser to see that himself and eat his words, and Tara lived for making people choke on their words.

"Collins and Fleming will show you the ropes today, then you'll be on your own unless you need something. You look like you know your way around the rules and regulations good enough for someone coming from Chicago."

There was at least one budding compliment developing out of that speech…somewhere, if you squinted hard enough.

Tara nodded, collecting the uniforms, "I'm pretty sure I'll be able to figure out the rules here quickly, thank you."

Upon standing, Unser stood as well and followed her out, pointing out a cleared off desk, situated in one corner of the room, "that'll be your desk, make yourself at home Knowles."

With that, they parted ways. Unser went back into his office, closing the door securely behind him as Tara moseyed over to the desk, depositing the uniforms. Glancing around, she tried to copy what everyone else was doing, but they all looked horribly bored out of their skulls, just sitting around and going through paperwork.

She waited for a little bit before two people finally approached her, "I'm Todd Collins, and this is Jack Fleming, Unser said for us to take you on any patrols we get today and show you the ropes."

"That is unless you'd rather just sit around here and twiddled your thumbs like you were doing earlier," the second guy commented with a smug smile.

Could he have picked two more intolerable, self-assured people? It wasn't what they said, but rather how they said it and the look in their eyes, conceited pride spewing out of their eyeballs. If these two guys represented the whole of Charming Police Department, then they were about to get a rude awakening by adding Tara to the mix.

"Well considering there was nothing exciting going on in town in all of," she pretended to glance at the non-existent watch on her wrist, "the 38 minutes I've been here, 'twiddling my thumbs' seemed the better alternative to paperwork, considering I don't have any that needs to be done…because I just got here…38 minutes ago," she finished with a self-satisfied expression of her own, smiling internally when they both scowled, obviously not used to snarky attitudes.

"We're going on patrol so throw on a uniform and meet us outside in fifteen minutes," one of them tersely snapped at her, not bothering to see if she was complying.

Slowly but surely she made her way to a small bathroom, discarding her clothes in the corner, then gathering them in her arms after she quickly changed into the uniform. Back to shabby, cream colored conformity. Things were a little more lax in Chicago, and the uniforms weren't this awful pastel shit but a more bright light blue. In her opinion, a more suitable color.

"You'll be riding with me," Tara tried to contain her excitement, which wasn't all that difficult, when Collins informed her of the devised plan.

Nodding mutely, she went around to the passenger side of his patrol car, sliding in, patiently waiting for him to finish up his thrilling conversation with Fleming.

All she had to do was get through today and then at least she would be handling things on her own. She didn't mind partners, but she minded if either of them included Fleming or Collins. She'd rather take the lady she met yesterday, or the one she saw this morning, permanent resting bitch face and all; at least she looked like more fun and entertaining.

The static from the radio was the only thing breaking the deafening silence as they drove through town. Tara was grateful for the silence for awhile, but then it became smothering, like a weight crushing down on her.

Thankfully she didn't have long before they stumbled upon a dispute occurring outside a business owner's shop. Collins looked uninterested, which led Tara to believe that this type of thing happened often with the man in question.

As an observer, she let Collins take the lead once they approached the man who was frantically waving around a stick in the general direction of a younger man, and loudly yelling obscenities at him. The young guy too looked as though this was normal.

"Good afternoon Robert, what seems to be the problem here today?"

A balding man in his late 50s turned with saucer shaped eyes towards there, "oh thank god you're here officer," he blatantly ignored Tara's presence, "this man right here is trying to steal from my store. I came down this morning after breakfast and he was here before the store had even been opened. He was tryin' to steal, and this ain't the first time I reckon cause he knew his way around the place."

Sighing, the young man looked at Robert, "grandpa I've told you countless times it's me, Caleb, your grandson."

Robert didn't look at him when he talked, "he keeps on sayin' that, but my Jimmy doesn't have a son. I think I'd remember that," he nodded like he was agreeing with himself.

"Robert how much did you have to drink this morning hmm?"

Ashamed, Robert began sputtering, "Well I reckon it was only a few drinks, you know they say a drink a day will keep the doctor away."

"It might keep the doctor away but I can't promise it'll save you from the coroner," Tara mumbled under her breath, not realizing that everyone could still hear her.

Robert narrowed his eyes, "who's this? A new cop in town, and a female at that? Lord, pray for us all."

Tara wanted to laugh at what a ridiculous statement until she realized that he was almost serious about the praying thing. She forgot how narrow minded some people could be.

Nevertheless, Collins kept going, "Robert why don't you go inside, get some water, and take a load off. I can assure you that this here young man is indeed your grandson, you're safe with him."

The soothing, calming manner in which he spoke made Robert lower his weapon and turn back towards the young man, "I suppose if you say it's alright, then I reckon it is. Come on inside junior and get to work, the store ain't going to run itself."

With that, old man Robert crept back inside as the young guy just rolled his eyes and followed suit.

It wasn't until they were back in the car that Tara spoke up, "if this is an everyday occurrence why doesn't someone give him some time in jail? Maybe then he'd sober up enough to recognize his own grandson."

"Because you can't arrest someone for just drinking," he said it slowly as if he were talking to a kid or someone who hadn't spent years in a police academy just as he had, though Tara was starting to wonder if anyone here went to an academy.

"Obviously not but you could arrest him for causing a public disturbance. Just seems like a waste of tax dollars to deal with the same dispute everyday—"

He interrupted her, "yeah well, that's how things work here in Charming."

That was it. That was the only explanation she was given, mimicking Unser's statement earlier this morning, about how things were done differently in Charming.

It might not have been in her job description to question how they ran things, but that didn't mean she wasn't going to do it. When she saw something fishy, she had to call it like she saw it…bullshit.

Towards the end of the day, it dawned on her why they answered some of the same calls on a daily basis…that was the only thing going on in town. Other than a few things here and there, it was mostly radio silence from then on out. Boredom was still no reason to let things slip under the rug.

This also was a Sunday, so that might've had a little to do with why everything seemed to be so quiet all around. The people she had seen prancing around the streets earlier were long gone, replaced by vast nothingness and tumbleweeds blowing in the dry, California wind.

Tara was pretty positive she dozed off for a few moments before they pulled back into the station.

Before she could get away from their watchful eyes, Collins addressed her again, "I almost forgot to tell you who your C.I. was going to be."

Kinking her eyebrow up he continued, "We have a handful of them around town keeping an eye on things because a lot of shit goes under the radar. Charming is a small town, but it's also a sneaky town where people are able to silently go above the law."

"So you're saying the criminals go over your head in this town? The have the upper hand?"

His mouth formed a snarl, "I'm saying that your C.I. can either be your best friend or your worst enemy. They'll either help you or hurt you. It just so happens that Fleming here is getting a new C.I. so you'll be taking over his old one."

The way he said it with that smug gleam in his eye made Tara think that this would be more of a punishment for her sassing them and insinuating criminals were smarter than them, though he all but said as much.

And of course, Tara was right, "her name is Gemma Teller. Good luck getting any useful information out of her. She's a crazy ass bitch who needs to learn to shut her goddamn mouth sometimes."

She wasn't going to argue, but she had a feeling that the reason this Gemma Teller wasn't useful was because they wouldn't know what to do with a woman when they got one. She didn't say anything but she nodded once, taking the file from his outstretched hand when he roughly shoved it towards her.

Thumbing through the papers, she made her way back inside, plopping down in the chair as she continued to scan over Gemma Teller's information. She had quite the rap sheet, multiple assaults, breaking and entering, and arson. That combined with her extensive character profile, classifying her as a typical narcissist, meant that Gemma Teller would prove to be an interesting C.I. to say the least.


	3. Chapter 3

Tara got a lot better sleep last night, not due to the fact that she was getting more accustomed to her surroundings but because she literally bored herself to sleep throughout the day.

It was unusual for her to go to bed before the clock struck 11, last night however, she was in bed and sound asleep by 9:45. One thing's for sure, this place would allow her to catch up on all the beauty rest she lost in Chicago.

It was almost as if she had to pick her legs up and drag them along behind her as she got ready the next morning. In the back of her head she kept in mind that it was Monday, the start of a new week, which hopefully would prove to be more interesting than a lazy Sunday. Even in Chicago Sundays were off days.

The same people smiled warmly at her, with curious eyes yet again, as she drove by them on her way to the station. She wasn't sure how long it would take for them to get used to her, but in the meantime at least they were smiling to her face. She was quite sure they were gossiping like old women about her as soon as she was out of sight. Opinions of other people never registered in Tara's mind, she didn't give a damn about anyone else.

She made sure to greet Unser on the way in, "morning chief," she nodded her head as he repeated the motion, grumbling out a 'hello.'

It was obvious he wasn't much of a morning person; either that or he wasn't a people person, or both. Regardless, Tara knew it was better to make your presence known, especially with the higher ups. It may have seemed like kissing ass because that's exactly what it was. You had to kiss a little ass in the beginning until you surpassed them and could make the rules yourself. That's how police business went, hell, that's how most things worked in life.

Upon entering she was flooded with a sea full of unfamiliar faces, granted she had only been there one whole day, minus her late night drop in previously.

Unfortunately for her, Collins' face was still there, as obnoxious and pretentious as usual. He grinned a Cheshire grin at her, while her eyes rolled on their own accord, finding her desk.

Empty, bare, and vacant was how she left it, but today, a plaque with her name engraved on it, shined brightly at her. Alongside the plaque was a small flowerpot, a blooming bamboo tree sprouting about 3 inches in height out of it.

"I took the liberty of placing some things on your desk, hope that's alright," almost startled she looked up to see a lanky, thin man, with slicked back, Chesnut brown hair standing in front of her desk. He had this typical all American look with a pronounced, square jaw.

There was a charismatic demeanor about him, confidence radiated off his body as he stuck his hand out to reach across the desk, intruding in her personal bubble, "I'm David Hale, I'm the Deputy Chief here."

Firmly taking his hand in hers, she shook it fiercely, "Tara Knowles, pleasure."

Letting go of her hand, he shoved his own back in the pocket of his uniform, "first day good? Sorry I wasn't here to greet you and I left you with Unser. He can be a bit unfriendly at times, got a million dollar smile doesn't he?"

Tara chuckled at the comment, obviously Unser wasn't known for smiling often, "no worries, I got on just fine. Unser seemed friendly enough for a police Chief; I just went on a call with Collins, Unser placed me under his wing for the day."

Biting her tongue, she tried not to come across as critical or bitter. It wasn't her place to question Chief's reasoning, although she was pretty sure he didn't have any reasoning for choosing Collins. Tara wouldn't have been surprised if he just threw a dart at a board to make his decision.

Hale grimaced, "let me guess, you visited old man Robert who forgets what he looks like once a week when he's drunk and calls to report an intruder when he doesn't realize he's just looking in a mirror?"

Again, she wanted to laugh at just how stupid that sounded, but the sadness in his eyes alerted her that he was far from kidding.

Instead she nodded, "yep, although maybe he's getting better because this time he just didn't recognize his own grandson," she laughed.

"I asked why they spend so much time answering calls like this when there is bound to be more to look into than this…told me it's just how things are done in Charming," she trailed off, not entirely convinced by their explanation.

She wasn't sure why she was telling him this, but he gave off a vibe that made Tara think he would agree with her about that.

Hale said nothing, but a look flashed across his eyes so quickly that Tara didn't have time to cross-examine it. It almost looked like tension when the topic turned into one about Unser and the way the town was ran.

"Well, I'll let you get back to work here, and if you ever need anything, just holler," for me, not for Unser. He didn't say that, but the way his eyes darted to Wayne's door towards the end of his statement told Tara that's exactly what he meant.

It was typical, the higher up you went, the more people started to clash, but here it was different. Hale was almost defiant and apparent about his dislike of Unser. That was something Tara hadn't seen a lot.

As odd as he was, Tara could see that he was a friendly person, not friendly enough that she wanted to hang out with him outside of work, but enough to where if she needed something she would consider going to him. Not before going to Unser though. She knew how to play the game, he was the Chief, and until he wasn't, he would always be her first line of contact.

"Anyone tell me where I can report a crime?" Tara looked up to see Gemma Teller, she would know that face anywhere, it was permanently embedded in her brain from spending so long looking at pictures of her.

Her low cut dark red shirt, showcasing a black, lace bra, hung slightly off her shoulders, chunky black belt chopping the shirt almost at hip level. Leaving no room for her legs to breathe, denim jeans clung tightly all the way down, flaring out at the bottom. Tattoos covered most of the visible part of her arms, and gaudy, leather bracelets covered what wasn't decorated in ink.

Taking her sunglasses off, pushing them up onto her hair, she didn't bother to look at anyone else, going straight for Collins.

This gave Tara time to take in the rest of her appearance. Thick blonde highlights broke through, what was otherwise a dark head of hair, matching the heavily dark makeup adorned on her eyelids.

The makeup and the clothing both had to be a reflection of the attitude and personality Tara spent all evening reading about. Dramatic, over the top, in your face, but determined.

"There you are sunny boy, get your shit and let's go. There's a crime going on."

Turning to leave him in the dust, he finally spoke up, "sorry Gemma but you're no longer my C.I. you can go see Tara Knowles over there."

He pointed to Tara just in time for her to stop ogling Gemma, looking up at her face, Gemma appeared unimpressed. Turning back to Collins, she put her hands on her hip theatrically, "what is this a whore house? You guys just pass people around when you get tired of them?"

Snapping her head back to Tara, she sighed, "Fine kid, get your shit and let's go."

Tara had no time to even open her mouth to take a breath; Gemma was already out the door, letting it slam behind her. She looked around at the rest of their faces, but everyone pretended to be engrossed in the fascinating set of papers before them…traitors. She couldn't have been that bad.

"Where are we going?"

Tara called out to her as soon as she got outside, watching as Gemma inhaled a puff from her cigarette before tossing it to the ground, "does it matter? There's a crime going on and you're a cop. I shouldn't have to add those two up for you sweetheart."

"Well when you're starting from point A and suddenly jump to point Q, you can see where a little explanation would come in handy."

Gemma's mouth twitched up into a smirk, but she said nothing leaving Tara to fill the empty silence, "we'll take my car. I haven't been assigned a patrol car yet, not a lot of those lying about I suppose."

When she was told it would take a few weeks to get more uniforms she knew that the chances of her getting a patrol car were astronomical. If they didn't even have spare uniforms, there was a snowballs chance in hell they had extra cars just waiting to be used.

"This yours?" Tara's eyes followed the direction of Gemma's jerking head, landing on her Cutlass that stuck out like a sore thumb parked in the middle of patrol cars and pickup trucks.

Tara nodded, climbing in and unlocking the passenger side, "it was my dad's car."

Taking a page from Gemma's book, she remained silent, letting her direct them the way they needed to go.

"You know you still haven't told me where we're going, and what I should prepare myself for?"

Gemma pointed to a driveway, instructing her to turn in there. When the car was in park, she spoke again, "she's a druggie, and that's my grandson in that house with her."

"Jesus Gemma, you called the law and took me away from work for a house call?"

She snapped, "look if you have something better to do then by all means, get the hell outta here, but I don't think the phones back at the department are exactly ringing off the hook. Stay, or don't, I'll handle it my goddamn self," she slammed the door shut behind her.

There wasn't really much of a choice now, Tara had to intervene, she didn't know what Gemma was capable of, and above that, this woman was committing a crime with a baby in the house. How could someone be so stupid and inconsiderate?

Not giving it anymore thought, she followed Gemma as she barged in, front door ricocheting off the wall as it made contact. Heading straight for the backroom, she called out, "Wendy get your no good, piece of shit ass out here."

Tara scowled at her, "there's a baby in the house Gemma, besides I don't think that's really going to help at this particular moment."

"The baby is a goddamn baby, it doesn't understand what's being said officer do-gooder, and it's helping me. You wouldn't stick up for her if you knew all the shit I did," Gemma coldly threw at Tara, who was by no means sticking up for this woman. She just didn't want to hear Gemma's mouth anymore.

"Jesus," was the only coherent thing forming in Tara's mind as she entered the master bedroom, looking as though it had been ransacked.

Clothes were thrown every which way; the curtains were drawn allowing no light to penetrate the dark fortress of the room. From under the covers there could be seen a stringy mess of blonde hair sticking out. Needles laid by her arm and on the nightstand, as a baby wailed in the playpen.

Gemma went straight for the baby, cradling him tenderly in her arms, as she made soothing cooing noises. The baby instantly quieted when it was in Gemma's arms, no doubt sensing the familiarity of his grandmother.

Tara was down right disgusted at the scene before her and she could now understand why Gemma said what she did earlier. There was no excuse for this; Tara didn't need to know the rest of the shit because this was bad enough.

Angrily, she pulled the comforter aside as the needles clanked to the floor, "get up, you're coming with me."

She roughly pulled at the lifeless body lying on the bed but received no help. It was like trying to pull up dead weight. Finally Tara jarred her enough to rouse her from her slumber.

Groggily she looked at her, "where's Abel, I have to get Abel."

"Abel's with me you stupid bitch, the last thing he needs is his pathetic, drug abusing mother," Gemma bitterly snapped at her.

Her lead lolled back and then snapped back up. Pleading she took in the sight of Tara in uniform, instantly trying to pull away from her, "no, I'm not going to jail. I'm a good mother; I just needed something to take the edge off. He was crying so much. I just wanted it to stop."

A snort came from Gemma, rocking Abel in her arms, "a good mother my ass. You spend more time nursing your drugs and bad habits than you do with Abel."

"Fuck you Gemma," Wendy bellowed as she tried to break the grip Tara had on her arm.

Sensing that this arguing was going to get them nowhere, Tara turned to Gemma, "take Abel in the living room while she comes down from her high and I can take her in."

Gemma looked like she wanted to refuse and tell her to go to hell, but the authoritative way she said it, and the look in her eyes changed her mind. Sulking, she went into the living room, sitting down on the couch with Abel, leaving Tara alone with Wendy.

Picking up the glass on the table, she sniffed the contents to make sure it was water before thrusting it at her, "here, drink this to get the drugs out of your system." Sympathy took a swan dive out a 50-story building when Tara saw the baby.

Chugging the water, Wendy choked, spitting some of it out until she downed the last remaining bit. Her hair was matted, unbrushed, and appearing as though it were unwashed, mirroring her clothes that were wrinkled up more than a shar-pei.

Casting her eyes down in shame, Wendy self-consciously ran her hands down her clothes, trying to smooth it out, "I wouldn't be too worried about my clothes right now."

She looked up when Tara's icy voice spoke again, "what the hell were you thinking? Actually, don't answer that because you weren't thinking. You need to get your shit together and clean your act up. That's your goddamn son out there, and you need to do whatever the hell it takes to be there for him. You want to be a good mother? Well start by checking yourself into a rehab place or something, because this is pathetic."

"You don't think I know that?" Wendy spat back at her, "you don't know what it's like."

Tara nodded, "you're right I don't know what a drug addiction is like," she leaned in close as Wendy's eyes grew wide, "but I can guarantee you that if I did, and I acted like you with my son around, I would cut my own tongue out and swallow it before I said some bullshit like 'I'm a good mother.'"

Standing upright, she crossed her arms over her chest as she could tell that Wendy was coming to, "are you taking me to jail?"

She had already decided the answer to that unspoken question before Wendy brought it up, "no, not because you don't deserve it, you sure as hell do. But because that's not the place that's going to get you help. You're going to voluntarily sign yourself up for rehab at the closest treatment facility, and if you sign yourself out before you're really clean, I won't hesitate to lock you up."

"Jesus Christ mom, what the hell are you doing?" Tara's head snapped when she heard a voice roaring from the living room.

Within seconds, a man angrily rounded the corner, entering the bedroom. He was at least 6'1 in height, pristine white shirt and sneakers on his feet, baggy jeans hanging off his slender form. Just like his mother, gaudy jewelry could be visible on both hands.

If Hale was the all American guy, then this man was the typical bad boy personified, complete with light stubble on his strong featured, baby face, and almost shoulder length blonde hair. He resembled Gemma in no other way, besides their taste in obnoxious jewelry; her dark features offered a vast contrast against his light ones.

He took one look at her and groaned, "Jesus Christ, she called the fucking cops? Listen I'm sorry about this, my mom's a little bat shit crazy. I'll take care of the family shit on my own."

"I won't argue with you about your mom," she heard a huff come from Gemma in the living room, eavesdropping.

"No offense but if you had been taking care of 'the family shit' before, I wouldn't have been needed. Now that I'm here, I'll take over," she firmly crossed her arms over her chest.

A scowl formed across his face, "jail ain't gonna fix her. Who the hell are you anyway?"

"Someone who's been here less than 24 hours and can see that you handling shit isn't going to fix her either. She isn't going to jail, she's going to rehab."

Moments passed before he conceded and spoke again, "alright," he addressed Wendy, "get your shit together, we're leaving in 20 minutes."

Mutely, she unsteadily got out of bed, searching for her clothing. The last glance she sent in Tara's direction was one of embarrassment, shame, humiliation, but there was also a twinkle of hope and gratitude in her eyes. Silently understanding, Tara nodded her head.

Going back to the living room where Gemma was playing with a giddy, laughing Abel, she half smiled at Tara, "nice speech in there officer do-gooder, definitely better than officer shit for brains would've given."

Tara chuckled, "well that's not much of a compliment but I guess I'll take what I can get. Next time though, maybe try calling the husband first."

Her face scrunched up in disgust, "Jax isn't married to that whore, she's just Abel's biological mother…that's all."

Solemnly, Jax came to sit on the couch in the living room, placing his elbows on her knees and his head in his hands. He didn't say anything for a few minutes; just raking his fingers through his hair, he finally sighed and looked up, "shit, I fucked up."

"I know you simple people live by the rule 'if it ain't broke don't fix it,' but she is clearly broke," Tara said deadpanned after his declaration.

Glaring up at her, he rested his head on his interlocked hands, "yeah thanks for that, I can see it now."

"Ray Charles would've been able to see that."

As much as he was irritated by her sarcastic attitude, it was also a breath of fresh air from the women he was used to dealing with. They had attitudes by all means, but not ones that challenged him or were educated. They were just annoying.

Instantly he stood up and walked closer to Tara, "listen I just want to thank you again, for seeing the shit that obviously I couldn't see because I didn't want to."

Sucking in a breath, she tried not to think about their proximity and how close he was to her. Curtly nodding, her lips formed a tight line, "sometimes it takes an outsider to point out how bad things really are before we believe it ourselves."

"You new to Charming?"

Tara rolled her eyes playfully, "pick up lines don't work on me and I'm willing to bet you know the answer to that question. I'll see myself out," when she was holding the door in her hand she twisted back around, "you can thank me by making sure she gets the help she needs."

Jax nodded, while Gemma said nothing, obvious that she didn't give a damn what happened to Wendy either way, but Tara did. She knew nothing about drug addiction, but she knew it couldn't have been easy. Wendy may have been a bad mother, but that didn't mean she couldn't get help and be a better person. Maybe eventually the better mother part would come along with it.

Arriving back at the station, Collins bombarded her as soon as she walked in, "what did she want this time? To send you on a wild goose chase?"

Tara could've put a stop to it right there and told them that she was actually useful. 10 to one, that would've put a damper on his peppy attitude. It was that one Tara was worried about, that one scenario where he would want to take Gemma back, and Tara got the feeling she was far more useful than she let on.

"Pretty much," was all she said, feigning boredom as she went back to her desk. Pulling out the files, she was determined to learn all she could about this Gemma Teller, and anyone else involved with her.


	4. Chapter 4

Every lead she chased down to help her uncover who Gemma Teller was ended up in a goddamn dead end.

Frustrated, Tara swept the papers off her desk, slamming her hand down on the study oak table. Of course her files were helpful for the personality part and her arrest history, but that told her very little about how deep Gemma's connections lied.

It also told her nothing about that infuriating, jackass son of hers, and there was something worth finding out about.

Looking at the empty desks around her, she huffed, bending at the waist to pick up her scattered papers. Everyone else was either out patrolling or on their lunch break but Tara didn't feel much like eating. She was too preoccupied with figuring out the puzzle in front of her, only it felt like a puzzle of a puzzle missing half the pieces.

Unser came gliding in the glass door, tipping his hat in acknowledgment of Tara's presence before slipping past her into his office. He did say if she had any questions to ask, and she was running out of leads to trace. This would be a lot simpler if the town wasn't living in the damn stone ages. Who the fuck didn't keep up with things electronically anymore besides Charming?

Tapping on his door, she waited until hearing a muffled command as she entered, "hey Chief, got a minute?"

"What's can I do ya for kid?" He sounded bored and uninterested, but still he invited her in.

Brushing off the horrid nickname chosen for her, she stepped into the office, leaving the door ajar, "I had some questions about Gemma Teller."

Unser visibly froze for a second, too quick for Tara to asses in full detail, "got her case file don't you?"

She nodded, "yeah but what's that good for besides a bit of light reading. The real stuff you wanna know about a person isn't on a piece of paper or on file, it comes from people who know them. You know her well right?"

"Well enough," he grumbled, "listen the only thing you need to know about her is in those files. Other than that," he looked directly at her, "keep your nose clean. Gemma and that whole family aren't people you wanna be gettin' involved with."

"Wouldn't it be better for me to know everything, I mean, she's my C.I. how am I supposed to work with her otherwise?"

Unser leaned back in his chair, stoic expression printed on his aging face, "Trust me when I say kid, that you don't want to know anymore. Don't go snooping around or you'll find things you wont like and don't wanna know."

With that he went back to the papers on his desk, scribbling away as Tara left his office.

Confused, she sat down at her desk for awhile, trying to process his pathetic and vague explanation, that sounded an awful lot like a threat. Don't go snooping around or you'll find out things you wont like and don't wanna know? Ha. She already knew a lot she didn't want to know about, but none of it was the important stuff. Like how Gemma got to be a C.I., there was some shady shit involved. Tara's been a cop for years now, and even before then, her instincts were always on point. She could practically smell the stink of it the first day she met Gemma.

Shaking the maddening thoughts jumping around in her head, she grabbed the keys to her finally assigned patrol car and left. Everyone else was already gone, minus Pat who returned after Unser. Loud mouth, annoying, squeaky voice Pat, and Tara highly doubted she would notice her missing.

If she couldn't get to the bottom of it looking through files, then she could at least ride through town to see what was going on.

Driving around, Tara rolled the windows down, letting the warm California air flow through the car, airing out the smell while at the same time cooling her off.

It got hot in Chicago, but not this kind of hot, not that Tara could remember. She preferred heat to the cold, but there was only so much a person could do to get cool, especially while wearing a starchy uniform that rubbed against her skin in all the wrong ways.

She had been in Charming for a bit now, and other than the first instance with Gemma, she hadn't heard from her since, except a random note left on her doorstep a couple days later.

The note only said 'we took care of it,' a vague message that would've creeped her out had it not been initialed G.T. at the bottom. Gemma was obviously referring to Wendy. Good, at least she was able to fix one fucked up thing in this town. She would roll over and die if that was her shining moment here.

Stopped at a red light, a few blocks away she heard the clear ring of a gunshot. Her eyes snapped towards the sound, punching the gas in pursuit. Caught up she opted out on radioing in until she could be sure it was worth looking into. For all she knew, it could've been two of the local hunters going around shooting things again, claiming they were hunting a bear.

A silence fell, like a blanket, over the area until she got right up on a warehouse, wire gate surrounding the outside of the place. Whipping her car in and in a parked position, she opened the door quickly, using it to shield herself as a bullet bounced off the hood, crackling sound echoing around her.

"Son of a bitch," she muttered to herself.

Pointing her gun at the direction the bullet came, the end of the gun peeped around the side of the car door, "get down on the ground now," she yelled forcefully.

The man holding the gun didn't bat an eyelash at her, continuing his pursuit towards her, firing off round after round, each shot ringing in her ear.

"Put your weapon down now and get on the ground," she shouted again, this time firing a warning shot close to his feet, watching as he artfully dodged.

Still not fazed, she looked around careful not to take her eyes off him long enough to see the other pools of blood indicating there had been on a full on firefight at 2:30 in the goddamn day. When she asked for excitement, this wasn't what she meant by it.

Snapping her eyes back to him, she held tightly to her gun, "take one more fucking step and I will not hesitate to shoot your ass. Now get on the goddamn ground, and put your fucking gun—"

The words tumbled out of her mouth as she crouched down lower. When the next bullet hit dangerously close, ricocheting off the top of her door, she couldn't let that shit fly anymore.

Quickly standing up, she aimed her gun at the center of his chest, only taking a single breath to steady herself as she pulled the trigger. Seeing the bullet make contact with his body, she ducked back down in case of retaliation. It was good enough for the moment to know she wounded him.

When she heard no more gunshots coming from him, she looked up to find the bullet lodged itself into his chest cavity, blood pooling around the wound as he dropped to his knees when two more bullets entered his body from beyond Tara.

Moving at a rapid speed, she crouched back down and pointed her gun at the door of the warehouse just as it closed shut. She didn't move from her crouched position while she looked around for more assailants.

Standing up slowly, she checked the perimeter for any lingering live bodies, but apparently they all scattered, and the one that didn't was now lying face down in a pool of his blood.

Just then she heard her personal phone ringing from the car. With one hand on the gun and the other reaching for the phone she opened it, "what?"

"Where are you, I want you to get to somewhere quick for me."

"Gemma?" Bewilderment laced her voice, "how…how in the hell did you get this number?"

She huffed, "that's not important right now, I want you to go—"

"Yeah well I'm a little busy right now, and you're old enough to where your 'wants' won't hurt you," clicking the phone off, she discarded it back into the passenger seat of the car.

Her eyes darted to the door, leading inside the building, when she heard noises coming from inside. The same door two bullets emitted from just minutes before.

Placing her hand on the handle, she took a deep breath before she turned the knob and flung the door open.

Before her stood many more men hovering around an old beat up couch pushed against the wall. The first one she came into contact with was the only one that had a gun in hand, "put the gun down and get on the ground."

He didn't look like he was giving an inch, until Jax's voice floated through the room, "Tara?"

Keeping her gun trained on the guy in her eyesight, her eyes widened when she saw a flash of golden blonde hair in the distance, "Jax?"

He didn't acknowledge her unspoken question but instead directed his statement to the shaved hair, gun yielding, tough guy wannabe in front of her, "Juice it's alright, she's okay."

It was only then the guy, Juice, the fuck kind of name was that anyway, lowered his weapon. He didn't seem to give a shit about a direct order from a cop, but a few soft-spoken words from Jax and he was all but rolling over on the ground like a damn lost puppy.

Not immediately trusting him, she didn't go over there directly; instead she waited until she was sure of the situation.

Finally, she stuck her gun in its holster as Juice spoke to her, "listen sweetheart, I understand you gotta do your job, but he's injured bad. What do ya say, can you help him?"

"Call me sweetheart again and the only person who'll be needing an help is you," she spat at him. She could already tell she hated his smug, douchebag face.

She looked towards the exit, mind going to the radio sitting on the dashboard of her car, but Jax shook his head, "it'll take them too long," it's like he could read her thoughts.

"I'll bleed out before they even get here. This is fucking Charming, there's one ambulance for the whole town."

"Shit," she muttered under her breath, "I'll do what I can then I'll call an ambulance."

She had extensive medical training that started in high school and carried on until graduation from the police academy. That knowledge saved her life, and the life of others, more than once while living in Chicago.

"Clear the area, give him some room to breath," she shooed them away with her hands, but none of them backed away, not trusting Tara.

"Back the fuck up or he's gonna die here on this piece of shit, raggedy couch. I can't operate under a microscope," she growled at them.

Of course, it wasn't until Jax nodded they backed away, some of them dispersing entirely, going back outside to clean the damage. She knew she should've told them not to touch anything, this was a crime scene, but for some reason none of those words left her lips. She doubted they would listen to her anyway.

Bending down in front of him, she peeled off the layer of white cloth, sticking to his drying blood. Feeling around his exposed back, she was relieved to see and feel an exit wound, one less thing to worry about, but he still lost a significant amount of blood.

Looking around she saw the medical supplies strung out around them, not the best, but she had worked with a lot less.

Digging through she found a needle and thread, gauze pads and sterilization alcohol.

Dabbing the alcohol on a piece of cloth, she pressed it against the wound, narrowing her eyes when he cried out, "well I'd suggest not getting shot if you want to avoid the sting."

Instead of being angry at her comment, Jax just chuckled until it turned into a violent hacking cough, "Do you feel like your lungs are taking on water? Could be blood in there."

The wound was awfully close to his lungs, too close for comfort, but Jax just smiled and shook his head, "nah it probably has to do more with the cancer sticks I smoke."

"If this gun shot wound doesn't kill you, there's a good chance that will one day," Tara humorlessly commented, going back to making sure the area was cleaned before sterilizing the needle.

Taking a deep breath, she could feel her own hands trembling. She wasn't a surgeon; this was the best she could do.

Noticing her shaking, Jax laid one hand on top of hers, chuckling when she jerked underneath his touch, "sorry, just trying to steady your hands before you fuck it up worse."

"Screw you, would you rather mole face over there did it?"

She jerked her head in the direction of where she was standing earlier with Juice. A lopsided grin spread across Jax's face, not answering her question, as he watched her work quietly.

Taking time, she carefully threaded the needle through his skin, thankful he didn't wince or groan every time she pulled it through.

"I'm surprised my mom hasn't called you already, you being her personal rent a cop and all," he said it as a statement, but his tone conveyed the obvious question.

Tara just mumbled, "don't get too surprised, she called me before I busted in here."

"Without backup, I'll add. You do realize that you could've gotten seriously hurt, you should think a little more before you go headfirst into things."

Pulling at the thread tighter than necessary she gritted her teeth, "I don't think I need a lesson in safety from the man lying with a bullet hole in his chest do you?"

Jax smiled and shook his head, "what did my mom want?"

"Oh just the usual, to be a pain in my ass. Wanted me to jump at her beck and call."

He nodded, looking down at her now steady hands pulling the thread like a pro, "what did you tell her?"

Tara shrugged, "I just hung up on her. I was up shit creek without a paddle, I didn't have time to deal with her at the moment."

Jax howled in laughter, causing his chest to clench in pain, but it was worth it. Not many people hung up on Gemma Teller, but he suspected that even if Tara knew all the skeletons in her closet, she would've acted the same way.

"What are you doing with my mom anyway?"

Jax asked Gemma a similar question after that first day, but she dodged his questions until he forgot about it, having to deal with bullshit club business.

Reaching for the scissors, she cut the string and shrugged again, "I saw her out the other day and I asked if she needed help. I wasn't convinced when she said no, so I helped anyway."

A good lie, a Jax could appreciate her ability to spin a tale, but he knew it was a lie.

"Cut the bullshit," he lowered his voice although no one else was close enough around to hear, "I know she's helping out with some police shit or whatever."

"Well if you knew then why did you ask?"

Jax pinched the bridge of his nose, "I wanted to know what she was telling the cops."

Tara threw her hand up nonchalantly, "I'd ask her if I were you, I'm new in town, can't help ya there."

She hated being the new guy, but damn if it wasn't a good scapegoat to use, and use it she did.

"Although if you're asking me, all she's giving me is a goddamn headache," she rubbed at her temples.

Jax couldn't help but smile down at her face as she placed the gauze on the wound, "how'd you wind up here?"

"Apparently someone decided to shoot up the place at 2:30 on a Tuesday to liven things," she sarcastically replied.

Jax sighed, "not here as in the physical location or Charming. Here as in doing this, police work?"

It wasn't that she didn't want to talk about it. It had more to do with the fact that she didn't know him well enough to be divulging childhood stories and secrets. Remaining quiet, she tore off pieces of tape to hold the gauze in place, sticking it to his skin, letting her fingers linger on his chest.

"That'll be good enough until you get to a real doctor," she stood up, discarding the wrappers in the trash.

"I'm not going to a real doctor," his gruff voice came from below as she turned around to look at him, "far as I'm concerned you're a real doctor."

"I'm a police officer, Jax."

"Like I said, good enough for me. Probably have the same amount of training," he sat up, leaning back against the armrest of the couch.

"Get your ass to a licensed doctor before you cough so hard you pop a stitch and ruin my handiwork."

When he didn't say anything, other than giving her a cocky grin, she shrugged her shoulders, "fine don't go to the doctor. I'll just call this in and have an ambulance come and escort you personally to the hospital. Maybe they'll let you turn the lights on and everything if you ask nicely."

"Alright fine," he growled, "as soon as mom gets here I'll make her take me to the doctor…satisfied officer?"

Just then the door burst open and in sauntered the devil herself dressed in tight forming jeans, plaid button down shirt, and her signature sunglasses permanently nestled on her head.

"What the hell happened here, are you all right?"

She immediately went to Jax's aid, but he just held up a hand and sat up further on the couch, "I'm fine mom, Tara here did nice work putting humpty dumpty back together again."

"At least I know she can use her hands to do something other than answer my urgent calls," Gemma threw her way, placing her hands on her hips as if scolding Tara like a parent.

"Yeah well I was a little preoccupied patching up your son, would you have rather me answered your 'urgent' call?"

The corner of Gemma's mouth twitched up into a smirk, "you got two hands don't you?"

"Yes and before I do something I'll regret with my two hands," she rolled her eyes, "I'm going to leave."

No one said anything to her as she passed, but she could hear Gemma let out a short chuckle. Pausing with her hand on the doorknob, she heard Jax's voice, "Tara."

At the sound of her name, smoothly rolling off his lips, she turned around, "thanks again for helping."

A sickening sweet smile appeared on her lips, "you can thank me by going to the doctor," she threw back the same words she said upon first meeting him.

Shoving the door aside, she trucked back to the patrol car, now a little dinged up in spots due to bullets ricocheting off it. She was never more grateful that wasn't driving her own car when this went down, she would've been a lot more pissed.

Frowning, she got into the car, waiting for someone to respond over the radio but either everyone was busy, a laughable thought, or no one was answering. The second was more likely.

Instead she let out an audibly sigh mixed with a huff of aggravation as she drove in the direction of the station.

Climbing out of the car, she ignored the looks everyone gave her, continuing inside, not stopping until she was in Unser's office for the second time that day.

"Chief there was a problem off Route 99—"

"Yep I'm aware, got a call from a nearby worker who said he could hear gun shots coming from the Teller's clubhouse. Pat said you radioed in and were leaving there."

Well, someone heard her radio, good thing she wasn't seriously injured or dying because her life would've been in Pat's greasy, slimy hands.

She proceeded to tell him what went down in grave detail, excluding the part where she became an active participant, but his face never reflected any emotions or thoughts if he had any. He just nodded curtly when she mentioned after going back outside, everything was cleaned up.

Waiting anxiously for him to say something other than a 'hum' or nod his head around like some kind of bobble head, she tapped her foot against the floor. When she couldn't take anymore, she stood up, chair almost falling back in the process.

"There's a dead man out there," throwing her hand vaguely in the air, wildly gesturing.

"Who was shooting at the police right?"

She nodded once, not saying anything for a few moments because she could tell by the finite tone in his voice he wasn't looking for an answer. Then Tara decided, she didn't give a damn if he was looking for one, she'd give him one anyway.

"Yes but—" there was no time for her to even finish her train of thought before he opened his mouth, effectively cutting her off.

"So you did what you had to do, you made a tough call, and now I have to make one." Simple enough, he constructed it in such a way to convey the similarities in the two cases. Tara wasn't buying whatever he was selling.

She shook her head, brows furrowing, "this isn't a tough call. There were other pools of blood, meaning that their had to be other victims besides that one. Jax lost a lot of blood, but not enough to warrant all that blood. Are you really telling me we're going to do nothing about this? Just sweep this shit under the rug."

"I suggest you watch your watch kid, that might've been how you handled things in Chicago, but you're not in Kansas anymore. This is my town. I don't sweep shit under a goddamn rug. There's not enough evidence to support your theory, point blank."

Tara bit her tongue so hard she could taste copper hitting the back of her throat. If there wasn't enough evidence, then you started a damn investigation, even rookie cops would know the next logical step.

This was some backwoods shit operation they were running in Charming, but he was right about one thing, this isn't how they did it in Chicago. So this wasn't how Tara was going to do it now.

"You can take the rest of the day off, clean yourself up and rest," came Unser's voice, not bothering to look up at her from his desk.

Tersely nodding, her mouth formed a tight-lipped smile, "got it Chief."

Grabbing her jacket off the coat rack, she hurled the door open, not caring as it slammed shut, vibrating through the entire station.

Forcefully banging the car door closed, she put her hands on the steering wheel, knuckles whitening as she laid her head against it. She was beyond pissed at the brush off she received for doing her job. A job she knew damn well how to do.

She stayed in this position, calming her breath, inhaling slowly until she dug around in her pocket. Her fingers landed on the object she was searching for.

Dragging her phone out she quickly typed in the number, waiting until someone answered on the other line, "hey, listen, I need a favor."


End file.
